


Too Deep (don’t let me drown)

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Abuse, Infidelity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Monto has issues, Physical Abuse, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He always trails just a couple of steps behind, ready to catch Riccardo when he falls. It is not by choice, nor by force – it is just how they are, and there is no way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Deep (don’t let me drown)

**Author's Note:**

> Pazzini’s POV. Connected to "Unspoken" but can be read as a standalone.

“I hate him,” Riccardo chokes out the moment Giampaolo opens the door, and there is no need to question who he is talking about.  
  
“What did he do this time?” he asks patiently, waving Riccardo to come inside even though Silvia is putting the baby to sleep and the rented DVD is waiting in the living room. A pissed off Riccardo he might just kick out, but he could never refuse his friend like this: lips trembling, eyes shimmering, heartbroken.  
  
He knows he is lying to himself: he has never been able to refuse Riccardo anything.  
  
Silvia gives them a sharp look when she emerges from the bedroom, but says nothing. She merely turns and goes to prepare the guest room – this is a familiar pattern for her as well.  
  
“So what it is?” Giampaolo asks, even though he is not quite sure whether he wants to hear the answer. Knowing Riccardo it might be anything from insulting his hair to cheating on him.  
  
Except it is usually Riccardo who does the cheating: Nocerino is in too deep to even consider it.  
  
“He doesn’t get it,” Riccardo mutters, “He just keeps being all lovey-dovey with the  _wife_ , keeps bringing his kids everywhere. And then he gets angry at me for being upset about it.”  
  
Oh, one of these nights again.  
  
There is something Riccardo is not telling him; something more he had done to make Nocerino angry with him, but Giampaolo does not pry, because that is not what Riccardo needs right now. He will wait until his friend has calmed down – then they will talk.  
  
He puts Riccardo in bed and stays there next to him until he falls asleep, and then he drifts off to dreamland himself as well, head pillowed on his arms, one hand still clutching Riccardo’s.  
  
He wakes up in the wee hours of morning with a blanket wrapped over his shoulders. Silvia never expects him to make it to bed when Riccardo is around, far too used to this little game by now.  
  
  
  
 _Riccardo is Giampaolo’s first love.  
  
It starts with fluttering in his chest when he is eleven and he watches his friend run across the field at practice. He has the prettiest eyes and cute, floppy hair, and Giampaolo does not understand why it has never before occurred to him that Riccardo is more enticing than any girl he has ever met.  
  
Riccardo is also Giampaolo’s best friend, and that does not change even with his new-found infatuation. They play football, have sleepovers, play videogames, go to practice, go to school – they do practically everything together, and it is the same as ever.  
  
It is only after a couple more years that Giampaolo notices the tiny little crush has grown into something bigger, something much more meaningful.  
  
By that time, it is too late to say anything, because they are too close, their friendship too precious for Giampaolo to risk it for something that could never be.  
  
Riccardo is Giampaolo’s first love, and he is also the last one: the one he will never get over, who will forever occupy that special place in his heart._  
  
  
  
When Giampaolo is offered the transfer to Milan, he does not hesitate for a moment.  
  
He tells people it is because he was shunned out of the Inter first team, and it is the truth, of course. He also says Milan is a great team – a team he has always wanted to join – and it kind of is the truth.  
  
It was Riccardo’s dream to play for Milan, and what Riccardo wants, he will get. Giampaolo just wants to be there to witness it. To make sure he is alright while fulfilling his dreams.  
  
“I’m so so so happy you’re here! It’ll be awesome, just like in the old times!” Riccardo is practically clinging to Giampaolo the moment he arrives at Milanello, showing off places and introducing him to people – most of whom he knows already, but Riccardo’s excitement is contagious.  
  
Nocerino gives Giampaolo a hard glare when Riccardo hugs him for the umpteenth time before Giampaolo is pulled off for some more fitness tests. Giampaolo gives him the indiscreet finger, because really, he was there first.  
  
Riccardo and Nocerino should be over their rough patch by now, soothed by the shared room in the training facilities and the comfort of the same team.  
  
Giampaolo hates that he knows these things, wishes he could just forget about Nocerino’s existence and imagine he has Riccardo all to himself just for a short while.  
  
He glances behind before he is ushered inside again, and is faced with the image of Riccardo brushing off a stray hair from Nocerino’s forehead. It is intimate, quiet and comfortable, and he wishes he did not have to see it.  
  
He feels like such a bad friend for wishing that this time Riccardo’s happy phase will last even less than they normally do.  
  
  
  
 _It is Giampaolo who introduces Nocerino to Riccardo, because he likes the younger boy despite him being on the wrong team.  
  
It is also Giampaolo who tells Riccardo to look again, to give Nocerino a chance, when he decides on the spot that he dislikes the boy.  
  
He regrets his attempts only when he notices the way Nocerino looks at Riccardo on the pitch, like he has never seen anything more beautiful. It is the exactly same look Giampaolo used to have before he learned to school his features into his ever-present frown.  
  
He regrets it even more when Riccardo calls him one night, panicking, sniffing, telling him in one hurried sentence that he dreamed of Noce and “what am I gonna do I can’t be gay I hate the guy please Pazzo you have to help me!”  
  
He does what any good friend would do: he tells Riccardo it is okay to be attracted to guys, that there is no need to panic, and maybe, just maybe Nocerino might like him back.  
  
He wants to kick himself afterwards, because he is losing Riccardo – despite never having him in the first place – and he is doing nothing to stop it.  
  
Giampaolo has the best seats in the house during the play that unfolds afterwards: the insecurities, the arguments, the fumbling first kisses, the sexual tension that builds up before it is too much to bear, the first time and its aftermath.  
  
He is there for Riccardo when he panics over the blood in his underwear, the soreness of his backside, the slight limp he has because of the pain, and they have a match tomorrow for fucks sake!  
  
He cannot let the jealousy take over, because Riccardo needs a friend, not another suitor.  
  
That does not change the fact that he hates Nocerino with burning passion: for stealing Riccardo away from him, for being what Riccardo wants, for existing at all._  
  
  
  
Luca Antonini is a great roommate.  
  
Of course he is: he is an overall great guy, who is fun to be around but who also knows when to stay silent. A trait not shared by many of their teammates.  
  
He also never pries into Giampaolo’s business, and opts to slip out of the room and go play FIFA with El Shaarawy or something whenever Riccardo decides to drop by, usually following a particularly nasty fight with Nocerino.  
  
“I hate him!” Riccardo declares, and this time it is angry Riccardo Giampaolo is dealing with, not a broken one, “I really fucking hate him! I wish he would just go to hell or wherever people end up in that stupid religion of his!”  
  
Giampaolo does not bother to mention that it is the same religion he believes in, because that would not make any difference. It is not religion Riccardo is angry about: it is the disappointing beginning of the season; the frustration at himself, at the team, at Nocerino. (Maybe at Giampaolo as well.)  
  
He leads Riccardo firmly to the bed and makes him sit down, crouching before him to look him in the eye, cradling his hands in his own, waiting for him to calm down.  
  
“You don’t hate him,” he finally says, the years’ worth of knowledge behind his words.  
  
“He told me I shouldn’t spend so much time with you,” Riccardo counters, like the words would miraculously turn his earlier statement into a truth, “He told me I should just come fuck you instead of him if I like you so much!”  
  
Something sparks in Giampaolo’s chest, but he puts out the tiny rays of hope before they can get any further. It is not him Riccardo wants, no matter what Nocerino thinks.  
  
“That’s just jealousy speaking, and you know that,” he tells Riccardo gently, reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind his ear, “He’s just afraid of losing you.”  
  
“Why can’t he just trust me?”  
  
Giampaolo cannot bring himself to say that it is because Riccardo has never given Nocerino a reason to trust him – that Riccardo deserves every mistrust he gets because he is the one who keeps breaking the boundaries, keeps betraying Nocerino’s trust, and then after reconciliation goes and does it all over again.  
  
He has to give it to Nocerino: he does not think he could handle being in a relationship with Riccardo – it would be like having his heart ripped out of his chest and stomped on over and over again, until there is nothing left but an empty shell.  
  
And yet here he is, consoling this beautiful, terrible monster who has no idea how dangerous he really is – and he has no way out, just like Nocerino.  
  
“Trust takes two,” he notes carefully, not wanting to stir the cauldron more than necessary.  
  
Riccardo pouts, and Giampaolo’s heart swells with adoration, because it is a glimpse of the same boy he fell in love with, so many years ago. It is the side of Riccardo that rarely comes out anymore, subdued by his more prominent traits, eaten alive by the constant mood swings.  
  
“But you’re my best friend. He cannot tell me not to have you in my life,” Riccardo whispers, leaning forward to press their foreheads together.  
  
“He’s not,” Giampaolo assures him, ignoring the mean little voice in his head that tells him to go for it, to break them up for good, “He’s just insecure. You’re gonna have to talk it though once you’ve both calmed down: explain him how you feel.”  
  
Riccardo nods, his forehead still on Giampaolo’s, and he is so close that Giampaolo can practically feel his breath on his face. The urge to kiss him is so strong, but he suppresses it with practiced ease.  
  
Riccardo stays the night, and they sleep together in Giampaolo’s bed, cuddled together in the comfortable warmth, Giampaolo’s hand absentmindedly caressing Riccardo’s hair until he falls asleep.  
  
Luca comes back to the room just before Giampaolo drifts off to sleep as well. He merely raises an eyebrow at them, but then shrugs and makes his way to his own bed.  
  
He has probably been around long enough to have seen it all before.  
  
  
  
 _Gila once said that Riccardo is like the wind: always changing, impossible to catch, but still there is always the wish that one day, one day we might be able to control it.  
  
Giampaolo has long since given up on controlling Riccardo, because that is just something you cannot do. As clichéd as it sounds, he is the straw that bends in the wind, not even attempting to resist its force.  
  
Because Riccardo is a life force of his own, and no one is safe if they let him too close.  
  
Gila is the smart one: he takes what he can get, and then he runs, runs, runs as far as he can before he is sucked in too deep.  
  
“He has no idea what he wants for himself,” Gila tells Giampaolo in the dressing room, glancing over at Riccardo who is refusing to look in his direction, “He’s obviously upset about cheating on Nocerino, but at the same time he throws himself into every new affair like they mean the world to him.”  
  
“I’ve never seen him like this with anyone but Noce before,” Giampaolo admits, and it is so baffling, so un-Riccardo that he cannot begin to decipher it.  
  
“I think it’s because I called it off instead of him – he doesn’t like to be rejected, does he?” Gila’s eyes are filled with so much sadness when he looks at Riccardo’s turned back that Giampaolo cannot help but think that he might have slipped a bit too deep without meaning to.  
  
“You’re lucky,” Gila notes softly as Giampaolo stands up to go and handle the backlash that is just waiting to happen, “You’re the only constant in his life – you’re the only one he really needs.”  
  
Giampaolo does not feel all that lucky when he is once again stuck holding Riccardo in his arms while he cries against his shoulder and keeps mumbling “I love him” and “I hate him” and “Why why why?” and Giampaolo is not quite so sure anymore that he is talking only about Nocerino._  
  
  
  
Riccardo refuses to reconcile with Nocerino, and Giampaolo is stuck in the middle once again, with a clingy, moody, frustrated Riccardo sticking close to him even more often than he usually does.  
  
It is damage control at its finest, because by keeping Riccardo close by, Giampaolo can actually make sure he will not do any more harm on his unhealthy relationship than he already has.  
  
Of course, Nocerino would disagree with the sentiment, his suspicious eyes following Giampaolo and Riccardo wherever they go.  
  
Luca agrees to switch rooms with Riccardo for the time being, because the midfielder is absolutely adamant on not sharing the same space with his on-off lover.  
  
“You’re being stupid,” Giampaolo quips when he returns to their room with a bag of Riccardo’s belongings he managed to collect under the scrutinizing eye of Nocerino. The man did not say anything, which was all well with Giampaolo, because he had no wish to speak to him either.  
  
“It’s he who should apologize. I didn’t do anything,” Riccardo retorts, sprawled comfortably on Giampaolo’s bed, his legs twisted in strange angles that make him seem oddly erotic. His shirt is riding up, revealing his abs and the thin line of hair leading under the waistband of his sweatpants.  
  
Giampaolo has to force himself to look away, because the inappropriate thoughts flashing through his mind are the last thing he needs right now.  
  
“You could’ve tried reasoning with him instead of going all drama queen on him,” he notes dryly, a humourless smile tugging at his lips as he throws the bag on Luca’s bed before joining Riccardo, making him scoop over until there is enough space for the both of them.  
  
“You know that telling your lover ‘maybe I will’ when they tell you to go fuck someone else isn’t exactly the best way to fix misunderstandings?”  
  
Riccardo hums noncommittally and throws one of his legs over Giampaolo’s in an all too familiar way, “What was I supposed to say? It’s so absurd – like we’d ever do  _that_.”  
  
“You sure?” Giampaolo regrets saying anything the moment the words leave his mouth, but it is too late to take them back, so he just stays still, acting like what he said is not something that might ruin their friendship forever.  
  
Riccardo’s eyes are wide and so amazingly blue that Giampaolo’s breath catches just a little even as he holds his friend’s gaze resolutely.  
  
The silence between them stretches and finally Riccardo sighs and rests his head on Giampaolo’s shoulder, content with not saying anything at all for now.  
  
For once, Giampaolo is grateful for Riccardo’s quietness.  
  
  
  
 _”He hit you?” Giampaolo asks incredulously as Riccardo pushes his way inside the house, tugging the collar of his jacket higher to hide the obvious bruise on his face, “He really fuckin’ hit you?!”  
  
Riccardo does not say a word, only sinks down on the couch, pulling his legs up against his chest. He looks so small, so lost, and it is not right.  
  
“I’ll kick his ass!” Giampaolo huffs, and is already halfway out of the door before Riccardo’s voice stops him.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
That is all he says, but it is more than enough to halt Giampaolo in his tracks, like he is just a puppet who follows Riccardo’s every command. (And quite honestly, it is as close to the truth they will ever get.)  
  
Riccardo’s eyes are bloodshot, but there are no tears to speak of when Giampaolo crouches in front of him to look him in the eye.  
  
“It’s not the first time, is it?” he asks quietly, and after what seems like an eternity, Riccardo shakes his head. His silence is all Giampaolo needs, really: no declarations of hate, love, anger, fear – just the waves of uncertainty oozing off Riccardo’s every gesture.  
  
Giampaolo does not particularly like this silent side of Riccardo.  
  
“It’s not right, you shouldn’t let him hurt you,” he tells Riccardo in a level voice, doing his best not to sound judgemental. Riccardo hates it when someone tries to tell him what to do, even if that someone is Giampaolo who can usually go a bit further with him than anyone else.  
  
“It’s fine,” Riccardo whispers, brushing Giampaolo’s worry off like it were an annoying fly, “I was in the wrong too. It’s fine.”  
  
It is all Giampaolo manages to get out of him that evening, and it breaks his heart.  
  
He wishes he could just tell Riccardo to stay away from Nocerino, because no matter how many chances they get, they will always just end up hurting each other.   
  
He wishes he could make Riccardo forget this love, infatuation, obsession, whatever it is that he is feeling for Nocerino, because it is exactly what is making Riccardo sicker – making him even more uncontrollable, more dangerous for himself.  
  
It is no use telling these things to his friend, because Giampaolo knows Riccardo would have got out long ago if it were possible.  
  
Because no matter what, the one suffering the most is Riccardo. Always Riccardo._  
  
  
  
The tension grows into a breaking point in the aftermath of the Udinese game, when everyone is frustrated, disappointed, and fast to turn the blame on each other.  
  
Just one misplaced word from Nocerino and Giampaolo can practically see Riccardo’s patience snapping only seconds before it actually happens, and then all the hell breaks loose.  
  
De Sciglio recoils from where he is sitting when the two older players suddenly start yelling at each other right next to him, obviously not used to these kinds of ‘adult situations’ yet. De Jong turns to Emanuelson to ask his countryman what the hell is going on while Allegri and Ambrosini rush to the rescue before the situation gets completely out of hand.  
  
The argument may have started from football, but it definitely does not linger on the subject: Riccardo and Nocerino keep bringing up the numerous sore spots in their relationship, blaming each other on everything that is going wrong between them.  
  
If there was someone on the team who did not know about the two of them yet, they definitely do know now. Boateng is actually filming the argument with his phone. (Giampaolo snatches the device from his hands and promptly deletes the video.)  
  
“Why don’t you just hit me again, huh? That’s the only way you’ve ever won any argument against me anyways!” Riccardo yells, pushing Ambrosini away from him, glaring daggers in Nocerino’s direction.  
  
Nocerino looks like he is actually considering the invitation, and that is definitely Giampaolo’s cue to step in.  
  
“Okay, Ricky, I think that’s quite enough for now,” he interrupts the couple in the middle of Nocerino’s retort as he positions himself between the two, facing Riccardo with a resolute look that tells him everything that needs to be said: wrong place, wrong company, wrong approach – now calm the fuck down.  
  
“You stay the fuck away from this, Pazzini!” Nocerino is not quite as easy to distract as he had hoped, and the comment pulls Riccardo into full swing again, as well.  
  
“You’ve got no right to talk to him like that!”  
  
“I’ve got every right when he’s the one sleeping with my man!”  
  
“I’m not  _anyone’s_  man, don’t talk like you own me!”  
  
“ _Enough!_ ” Giampaolo intercepts again, pulling Riccardo forcibly away from the argument and the group of people around them, throwing a cautionary glance in Nocerino’s direction. At least Allegri has enough sense in him to keep a hold on the midfielder’s shoulder, stopping him from following them.  
  
He sits Riccardo down a bit farther away and flops down next to him, ignoring the curious glances their teammates keep throwing in their direction. He is officially part of this now, whether he wants it or not.  
  
“You’re an idiot,” he tells Riccardo gently and his friend hums an affirmative, his face pressed firmly in his hands.  
  
  
  
 _”I don’t care how insufferable he can be! You do not fucking hit Ricky!”  
  
The look Nocerino gives him is filled with the same kind of uncertainty he could see in Riccardo’s face just the night before. It does not lessen his anger one bit, because right at that moment he despises the man in front of him with all his being.  
  
Nocerino keeps silent, left speechless with Giampaolo’s outburst.  
  
“I really wish I could just tell you to stay the fuck away from him,” Giampaolo continues with a more resigned tone, “But for some unfathomable reason he seems to be adamant on keeping you around.”  
  
The jealousy is clenching his insides, because it is supposed to be him who makes Riccardo feel happy, loved, needed – not this brat who does not even know how to handle Riccardo’s darker sides.  
  
“Make no mistake: the next time you as much as lift a finger against him, I will kill you.”  
  
He glares down at Nocerino, taking advantage of the difference in their heights, until he is sure the message is implemented deep into the younger man’s brain.  
  
He turns around to take his leave, but Nocerino’s soft voice stops him before he can make it to the door: “I don’t wanna hurt him, you know – I never wanted to hurt him.”  
  
Giampaolo turns to look over his shoulder, only raising his eyebrows to indicate he is actually listening.  
  
“It’s just so hard. You know how he is: one second he is like the most perfect being on earth and the next he becomes a fucking monster!” Nocerino looks so lost, and Giampaolo can understand him perfectly – Riccardo is not an easy person to be around, never has been.  
  
“He is not a bag of candy: you can’t just pick the parts of him that you like,” Giampaolo tells him slowly, like talking to a child, “With him, it’s all or nothing. And you made your choice long ago.”  
  
“I never knew it would be this hard.”  
  
“None of us did. But does that mean we’re allowed to give up on him halfway through?” Giampaolo sighs and finally makes his way out, leaving Nocerino to consider his words._  
  
  
  
Giampaolo takes Riccardo home once the team returns to Milan from Udine.  
  
Riccardo’s apartment is small, just two rooms and a kitchen, not at all like a place you usually associate with an internationally known footballer who earns millions every year.  
  
“You okay from here? Not gonna do anything stupid, are you?” he questions once he has dropped Riccardo’s bag on the floor and flicked on the light in the living room.  
  
He turns around to look at Riccardo and the next thing he knows, he is being thoroughly kissed, hands tugging on his shirt insistently and lips firm on his.  
  
It takes Giampaolo a while to collect enough willpower to push Riccardo away from him.  
  
“Stop it! We’re not supposed to be doing this, remember?”  
  
“Why not?” Riccardo asks softly and he is looking so dejected that Giampaolo’s heart melts just a little. This is what he has been secretly hoping for since forever, and it is offered to him willingly, Riccardo’s eyes practically begging him to get on with it.  
  
But it is not him who Riccardo wants, and he does not want to take advantage of his confused state.  
  
“You don’t really want this; you’re just upset because of Nocerino.”  
  
Riccardo bites his lip, his gaze wavering just a little when his lover is mentioned, “But you do want this?”  
  
And then Riccardo is pressed against Giampaolo again, and he has no more strength left to refuse him again. He has never had that kind of strength.  
  
Riccardo feels even better than he has ever imagined: his hands are everywhere all at once, his lips scalding against Giampaolo’s skin, his long legs firm on his hips as he pushes in slowly, slowly, and then he is too far gone to be careful anymore.  
  
He almost forgets why it is so wrong – how could it be wrong when it feels so  _good_  – until they both reach their orgasms and the name that falls from Riccardo’s lips is not his.   
  
“I love you,” he whispers once he is sure Riccardo is fast asleep, kissing his hair gently before he gets out of the bed and proceeds to pick up his clothes scattered around the apartment.  
  
He leaves a note on the kitchen table before heading out to the crisp night of Milan:   
  
 _Remember to eat.  
Don’t do anything stupid.  
Call me if you need anything.  
For fuck’s sake, talk to Nocerino!  
Love you.  
– Pazzo_  
  
With Riccardo, it is all or nothing.   
  
For Giampaolo, it has never been a matter of choice.


End file.
